


Out in the Octagon

by Vaysh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Closeted Character, M/M, Tattoos, background Draco Malfoy/Astoria Greengrass - Freeform, cage fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/pseuds/Vaysh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is here for the magic that is Gregory Goyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out in the Octagon

**Author's Note:**

> Written within 24 hour for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/wand_in_a_knot/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/wand_in_a_knot/)**wand_in_a_knot** Tag Challenge on LiveJournal. My prompt was _This is absolutely the last time._
> 
> This bit of low-rated smut has been inspired by Josh Herdman's post-HP [career in MMA cage fighting](http://www.bbc.co.uk/newsbeat/article/36137321/harry-potter-star-josh-herdman-gregory-goyle-launches-cage-fighting-career).

It was a Muggle thing. The fence. The number girls. The bald guy shouting into a microphone instead of using a _Sonorus_. The sprawling, smelly building in Romford, of all places. No Malfoy had set foot into East London in living memory, and Draco took cares to not give away his identity. There was always a chance another wizard had acquired the taste and showed up at the Octagon for a bit of Muggle blood.

Draco wasn't here for the blood. He had never been to the secret Black Clubs Lucius and his Death Eater mates had frequented. At the time, Draco had been too young for this kind of old-fashioned wizarding entertainment. Now, Black Clubs were outlawed in the wizarding world, along with all the other, more pure-blooded institutions and customs. These days, nobody of any social standing would pay good Galleons for sport with Muggles. Draco was content with it. He wasn't visiting the Octagon because it was a Muggle thing.

No, he was here for magic. The magic that was Gregory Goyle. 

Because of Gregory, fat, dumb, greedy Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy endured the stench, the howling Muggle masses, the stupid fence that separated the audience from the octagon-shaped area where the contestants were fighting. Because of Gregory, Draco left his comfortable home in Wiltshire to come to Romford; because of Gregory he donned ridiculous Muggle clothes and endured the number girls with their whorish make-up and emaciated bodies. They did as little for him as Astoria's curvaceous shape and pretty face. 

Gregory's shape, though – it did things for him. Always had. Nights at Hogwarts, Draco remembered, wanting, wanking, wrapped in fantasies of Gregory's strong hands holding him down. 

He had never seen him naked at Hogwarts. Gregory had been awkward, prudishly shy about his size. It had made Draco want him even more, but only Vince had ever had a chance with Gregory, back then. Not that Vince had seen the hidden looks Gregory would give him. Vince had only cared for Pansy. Who had been disgusted with him. At his funeral, Pansy had cried when she told Draco about the expensive Valentine gifts Vince had given her. Vince, who'd come from a poor family, nothing like the Parkinsons. Nothing like the Malfoys, obviously, who were a league of their own. Nothing, either, like the Goyles who'd lost their wealth but not their good name. 

On the other side of the fence, Gregory entered the ring, coming face to face with his opponent, a black-haired hunk of a man. The Muggle with the microphone announced the fighters – _Greg Goyle, 80 kg, out of Pro Mai MMA_ – and someone took off Gregory's shirt to reveal the body Draco had only seen here, in this dim-lit Muggle place. Gregory looked so different now. Draco wasn't sure he would have recognised him in Diagon Alley – face leaner, sharper, right eyebrow scarred, build strong instead of big, _present_ in a way Gregory had never been at Hogwarts. Draco looked for his hands that were clenched to fists. He'd always loved Gregory's hands.

Then, there were the tattoos.

Draco shifted on the VIP seat he'd paid for with Muggle pounds. It was a cheap seat by wizarding standards – Draco was a bit hazy on how much Muggle pounds were worth in Galleons. Astoria usually dealt with all things Muggle. The Greengrass' had expanded their business to the Muggle world, creating elegant furniture worthy of a Muggle queen, apparently. Nothing like the hard plastic chair Draco was sitting on. He'd paid for a VIP seat only because of the relative privacy it offered. Relative as in, a better view of the fighters and a thin, waist-high metal barrier between him and the Muggles screaming for their champion in the ring. There were two other seats in the VIP area. Draco paid good money (his assistant told him) to keep them unoccupied during every one of Gregory Goyle's fights. 

Gregory had never had tattoos. The notorious Sirius Black was the only wizard Draco knew to have sported tattoos while at Hogwarts. Now of course, Potter was famous for his magical tattoos, spreading like liquid fire down his arms (and his thighs, if rumour was to be believed). Gregory's tattoos were Muggle, unmoving, an Eagle perhaps on the left arm and a dark, forceful pattern on the right. It was all Draco could make out from the distance behind the bloody fence. The tattoos shaped Gregory's body even more than the unfamiliar muscles, the slender waist and the ripped stomach, the shoulders that Draco would have sworn had never been so broad at Hogwarts. Sometimes during a fight, it looked as if Gregory was flying, his tattooed arms wings kept close in the swoop downward, honing in on his opponent.

Draco let his fingers rub lightly against his crotch. He'd never got off here, behind the metal barrier, but he wanted to. Since Scorpius' birth, Astoria had not asked him to her bed, for another one of their perfunctory copulations. He had given her the child he promised. He had given his father the Malfoy heir he wanted. _This_ part of being the dutiful son was over. Draco opened the fly of his trousers, the Muggle zipper so strange compared to his usual wizarding attire. Out in the Octagon, Gregory was moving in on his opponent, graceful on his bare feet, like a dancer, owning his weight instead of letting it drag him down. Draco shoved his hand underneath his pants; he touched the tip of his cock, moving lightly across the slit. Gregory's left landed on his opponent's chin, and the man crashed backwards into the fence. There was blood on his chin, there was blood on Gregory's bare knuckles. Precome seeped from Draco's cock as he massaged its head. 

Gregory stood in a fighter's stance, low, mobile, dark eyes trained on his opponent. Draco imagined, as the man wiped his face, as he pushed himself away from the fence, how it would feel to have Gregory look at him with such brutal intent. What it would feel like to have this powerful body shove him against a wall, crowd him – posh clothes and all – against peeling paint and cold, hard stone. 

Out in the Octagon, Gregory had the man pushed against the fence again, with a two-punch combination too fast for Draco's eye to follow. The Muggles howled as the bald guy with the microphone cheered the fighters on. Someone crashed against the metal barrier, and Draco made his fist move slower, holding himself back. In the Octagon, Gregory went in for the kill, light and swift. There was blood pooling on the floor now, dark in the glare of the lights. His opponent was down on his knees, panting against the fence. Gregory's chest was rising and falling, a rhythm like wings in flight. 

Draco squeezed his cock. He'd be so open for Gregory, so willing. So, so soft. Vince had been soft once, and Draco knew what Gregory wanted. He could give it to him if Gregory just let him.

He'd corner Gregory tonight; he'd show himself. Invite him for a glass of Firewhiskey, beer, whatever Muggles drank after a fight. He'd seduce Gregory, take him to the Malfoys' London flat, Side-Along him if Gregory let him. This was absolutely the last time he'd sat here, touching himself in the dark. 

Beside the Octagon, outside of the fence, the bald man announced the winner of the fight, raising Gregory's right arm. The tattoos gleamed brighter than any magic Draco had ever seen.


End file.
